


Help

by AliceinHyruleBastion



Series: King(s) of Hearts [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: (and my poor sister was suffering because of it cause she edits), Dark Thoughts, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Self-Hatred, Songfic, this poor child doesn't need this but alas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 18:33:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11258574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliceinHyruleBastion/pseuds/AliceinHyruleBastion
Summary: The hardest of hearts does not break easily, but when it does-Not even the heavens can soothe the burn.Ryuuji is not one to show weakness, the weak spots of his heart, but words upon words upon thoughts and rumors start to break down a mind sick with self-hatred.However, his sanity- his grounding, his trust- comes in the air of a quiet coffee shop and the words of an unexpected salvation.(Ryuuji breaks, and finds home in the one place his heart knows- in the arms of Akira.)





	Help

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeeeeeeeeey!
> 
> Took a slight pause from Goldenrod for some hurt/comfort angst and some practice for th upcoming chapters (hint hint), and besides, Ryuuji needs some lovin' (after I break him of course).  
> I have been told this is "very soft"??? but we'll see! I just hope this isn't too OOC/shallow, as I worry about being insensitive or cliche. :/  
> This'll have a sister-fic up soon, just so ya know!  
> I hope you enjoy, and as always comments and critiques are always appreciated!
> 
> (Song is Help, by Hurts!)

  
_"Take my hand and lead the way_ __  
_Out of the darkness and into the light of the day_ __  
_And take me somewhere I'll be safe_ __  
_Carry my lifeless body away from the pain"_ __  
__  
  
Ryuuji was.... tired.  
No, that wasn't quite right.   
  
There wasn't really a word to describe just how... _wrong_ he felt, as if his skin swirled and hovered inches over his bare bones and as his stomach seemed constantly twisted into sickening knots, or how his eyes seemed to slip away and out of focus as if his retinas had detached, leaving him blind. He felt full of _wrong_ energy, his fingers seeming to tap out the erratic dance of his seizing heartbeat, and something in him shifted and out of place like a broken bone, or a puzzle piece jammed into the wrong spot.   
He was numb.   
Static whispered lovingly into his ears, beckoning him to a place where feelings held no weight, where cruel tongues were silent and ears were deaf and jeering eyes were scratched out and empty and-  
  
His eyes snapped open and he winced at the sting of pain in his scalp. With a jolt, he remembered that he was sitting in his room on the comforter of his bed, and that he’d managed to lace his fingers into his hairline. The sunlight of the afternoon burned his eyes and he squinted, scuttling out of the way to lean back against the wall again. (He pulled his fingers from his head only to find fresh blood under his nails, but he'd shoved them under his thighs as if in an attempt to hide them from himself.)   
  
Ryuuji stared at the wall, his chest- normally filled with ceaseless sound and color- was empty and cold, as if a darkness had opened within him- now everything felt as slow as molasses, as if his head was stuffed with waxy cotton.   
  
The only sound- the only _movement_ \- that caught his attention was the unsettling double-beat of his heart rampaging against his ribs.   
_(I can't breathe-)_ __  
  
In the same instant he was simultaneously lethargic as he was restless, his flesh a juxtaposition of wanting to melt away and needing to fidget, and it was tearing him into pieces.   
_(It's too quiet._ I'm _too quiet. I need to move-)_ __  
  
He stood up sharply from his bed, his feet off-kilter and unsteady, but he disregarded it as he forced himself down the stairs, vision dizzy in the oversaturated lights.  Everything hurt, and everything felt _wrong_.  
_(If there's anything wrong here, it's me.)_ __  
  
His mother wouldn't be home for a few more hours yet soon he had time to kill, which lead to an impulsive thought from his poisoned mind; the thought turned itself into sickly scribbled words on a sticky note stuck to the table, ending in hastily toed-on shoes and a door slamming shut.  
  
He needed balance, he needed reason, he needed his brain to just _shut up_ and _work_ for once in his miserable life, and maybe “fixing” it would finally turn him into the competent person he needed to be.   
  
_"It's that punk over there, be careful, I've heard he's dangerous_."  
  
_"Someone told me his dad beats him- I guess that's why he ended up like that."_ __  
  
_"He's a freak."_ __  
  
_“So scary!"_ __  
  
_"He deserves it."_ __  
__  
_"What an idiot."_ __  
__  
_"Useless,"_ __  
__  
_"Failure-"_ __  
__  
_"You're a monster-"_ __  
  
Ryuuji grit his teeth as he walked briskly toward the train station, trying to shake away the thoughts that stuck like tar in his head. He noticed the looks, felt the air of panic as he made his way down the roads.  He knew how imposing and awful he must look, but _they_ didn't know just how close he was to shattering and spilling over his broken edges like a ship caught in a storm-filled bottle.  
They didn't know how weak he really was.   
  
He closed his eyes as he boarded the train headed toward Yongen-Jaya, toward the place he knew he might be able to catch a breath.   
  
The doors of the train rattled shut, and he leaned his head against the window before shutting his eyes against the vibration, wishing the feeling would swallow him whole.  
  
\---  
  
_"I'm sick and tired of being afraid_ __  
_If I cry anymore then my tears will wash me away_ __  
_But when I hear you call my name_ __  
_I whisper the word that I never thought I'd ever say"_ __  
  
  
By now, Leblanc should be getting ready to close up, but the thought barely registered as he hesitantly opened the door, the soft chime of the bell announcing his presence as he quietly slipped inside.   
  
_I... shouldn't be here,_ he thought guiltily, feeling his ugly attitude poisoning the amber- warm and homey air of the shop. He felt as if he was intruding, standing upon some holy shrine of where he and his damned feet had no right to be. _I shouldn't have come here, I should just lea-_ __  
__  
"I'm sorry, but we're- Ryuuji? What are you doing here?" A voice asked, surprised. The words were not meant to harm, but they made Ryuuji flinch all the same.   
  
Ryuuji tried to say something, _anything_ to justify why he was even here at all, but the words wouldn't come, instead morphing into fingers curling onto frustrated fists and nails cutting into palms.   
  
"Ryuuji?"   
  
In the light of the evening, it seemed to make the voice- _Akira_ \- glow like some ethereal being, something too pure and bright to be near Ryuuji.   
  
"Hey, _hey_ , what's wrong?" Akira asked gently, and Ryuuji completely froze when he felt a hand on his shoulder, not realizing that Akira had come close enough to touch him. "Ryuuji, please, say something."   
  
Ryuuji's mind was a clash of fiery entropy tearing itself apart and the yearning of the calmness that emanated from Akira's touch on his shoulder, his bitter heart fighting against the kindness he knew he didn't deserve. "I-" his voice cracked at the pitiful attempt of a word.   
  
The touch on his shoulder shifted until it wrapped around one of his wrists, the echo of it leaving cool stillness in its wake that brought grinding gears to a confused halt. "Let's go upstairs, okay?"   
  
Ryuuji nodded slowly, and Akira smiled sadly at him before gently tugging the other boy toward the stairs up to his attic.   
  
Eventually, Akira had forced Ryuuji to sit on his bed while he himself grabbed the stool from the work desk and settled himself just in front of Ryuuji, just close enough for his presence to swirl like a fresh breath in front of Ryuuji's eyes but just far enough that it turned into a sticky haze of a mirage just out of his reach.   
  
"You never come over this late," Akira started, hands coming down to rest on the edge of the stool, his body leaning forward (and causing Ryuuji's mind to scream in a dual shriek of " _yes_ " and " _no_ " as dark hair and gray eyes dipped closer toward him). "You've also been off for the past few days," he added bluntly, "and I've been worried about you. Can... can you tell me what's wrong?"   
  
_He knew? Of course he knew, idiot, 'cause he's actually, y’know, good at stuff like that._ Nonetheless, he felt a spark of _something_ that made his heart hiccup, hopelessly touched that Akira had been worried.   
We wanted to scrub away the feeling, the happiness. (He didn't deserve it.)   
  
"I just..." Ryuuji started, before pausing with a shuddering breath. Akira, in his usual silent stone angel way, waited patiently for him to continue. "I don't know what's wrong with me." The words weren't entirely correct, but they didn't miss the mark.   
  
Akira's brow creased. "What do you mean?"   
  
Ryuuji sighed harshly, pulling his feet up onto the bed and wrapping his hands around his ankles, his grip far too tight to be considered casual. "There's just something wrong with me that I need to fix, but I'm too fucked up in the head to actually figure out what it is and _shut it up,_ " he eventually forced out, words vicious and sharp like a knife across cello strings, screeching and uncomfortable. One of Ryuuji's hands made its way back to his hairline, picking and scratching at the fresh scabs from earlier, eyes cast toward the floor unseeingly.  
  
"Woah, woah, slow down," Akira said, hand reaching out to barely touch at Ryuuji's knee.  Ryuuji couldn't tell if he'd decided to ignore the spot of comfort or if he'd been too distracted to register it. "There's nothing   _wrong_ with you, Ryuuji."   
  
Somehow, Akira's words stuck to his skin like pins disguised as rain, each syllable piercing Ryuuji's skin in points of icy fire. He shook his head, eyes still down toward the floor. "Everyone thinks I'm some kind of gang leader or freak who's ready to snap and attack them, or I'm some dumb idiot who's nothing but worthless _garbage_ who's better off just disappearing, and I'm nothing but dead weight. It's like, nothin' I do actually ends up bein' right, and I'm always the ass-end of jokes. 'S like I'm good for nothing but bein' a wrong example of what not to be in life." Some inhibition had lifted and the words poured from him, that shattered bottle-storm spilling from his lips like toxic words as viscous as blood, dripping onto his hands and staining them red; the guilt of his inner self was dyeing his fingers into colors bright enough for Akira to see, to pity, to _hate_.  
  
_Of all people, of all places- I shouldn't have done this, this was stupid-_ __  
__  
_"Hey!"_ Akira said sharply, and Ryuuji's eyes flew open (when had he closed them?) to see Akira's face right in front of his and to feel a tight grip on both of his wrists, pulling them away from his head (when did his other hand move?). His touch burned. "You're not stupid. You're not wrong. You're not _useless_ ," Akira said emphatically, words succinct but not angry.   
  
_Oh, how wrong he is._ Ryuuji felt his eyes  burn with the start of tears, and he wanted to tear out his own eyes. _Weak, weak, weak._ "What am I to the group then?" He argued sharply, head turning away from Akira. "I'm not smart like you and Makoto, I can't do fancy spell-work like Mona or Ann or even Haru, I'm not as strong or intuitive as Yusuke- and I'm just so _sub-par_ compared to everyone else." His voice was frustrated and raw, and tears start to tear red-hot streaks down his face. "I'm so fuckin' weak and shallow, and I- I just-" he broke off then, words curling into cresting waves of sobs that crashed violently, his mind spiraling into an ugly smear of a ruined crescendo.   
Simply put, he _broke_.   
  
" _Ryuuji_ , look at me," Akira said sharply, not releasing his wrists, and waited for Ryuuji's startled eyes to lock onto his. "You, of all people, are not even close to weak," he started, pulling their hands down until they bridged the gap between their laps. "Flawed? Yes, of course, as we _all_ are- we're human. _Human_ ," he continued, eyes intense and unwavering, scoring Ryuuji to the bone. "You have one of the brightest-burning resolves I know, and everyone you work with knows it, and it's not a bad thing. You brighten the morale, lift everyone's spirits, are loyal to a fault and loud in your integrity. You are _you_ , proudly. You shine, and light up the room. Does that sound useless to you, Ryuuji?"   
  
Ryuuji's breath hitched. "But I-" _I hate myself._ __  
  
"So what if people said some awful things about you?" Akira cut in. "Society is a mindless, fickle creature that feeds on the scraps of stereotyping and gossip. We're here to _change_ that society, right?" He asked.   
  
Ryuuji, after a faint pause, nodded.   
  
Akira smiled faintly. "The words of such a creature don't hold that much weight as it is; what matters is what the people closest to you think, and even then, even _now_ , what matters most is what your heart and your _mind_ think. Take what you will into consideration, but it's _you_ that matters in the end."   
  
"But if I thought I was fine then I wouldn't be here in the first place," Ryuuji mumbled bitterly, and he felt Akira squeezed his hands.  
  
"You're _human_ , Ryuuji," Akira reminded gently, expression soft and sincere. "There's nothing wrong with needing comfort and reassurance, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with just needing to cry. We _all_ have a breaking point."  
  
Ryuuji felt himself freeze up like a poorly-oiled automaton, hands desperately clutching at Akira's and eyes searching the other’s for some reason as to _why_ he was giving him such kindness. _I came here on a selfish whim, so why is he being so...? (You know why, otherwise you wouldn't have come.)_ Ryuuji felt fresh tears spill over his cheeks, the warmth of them surprising him.   
  
"Please don't punish yourself like that again, okay?" Akira said softly. "You don't need to bottle it up. I'm always here, you know that."   
  
Ryuuji felt his lips barely voice the words _"thank you"_ before another round of sobs racked his chest, robbing his lungs of breath as he doubled over.   
  
Now, where there was numbness there was icy pain; while it was _pain_ , it was still feeling, emotion, _something_ that broke through the static and burned him, bringing feeling back to his fingers and knitting flesh back to bone.   
As much as it hurt, the pain and tears made him feel _alive_ again, and it was all thanks to to the unbelievable person in front of Ryuuji of listened to him be selfish. _Idiot. Why do you stick with me? Why won't you let me be alone?_ __  
  
"No one deserves to be alone," Akira answered, and Ryuuji numbly realized that he must have been voicing his thoughts allowed.  
Frankly, he couldn't give a damn at the moment.   
  
There, in the attic of a small coffee shop tucked in a forgotten corner of the Tokyo streets, a boy remembered how to _breathe_ again, how to _feel_ again.  
  
More importantly, he was taught how to _heal_ , not just layer plaster and bandages over the wounds and ignore it.  
  
It was a start, a spark, not an instant fix-  
But a reminder of life, of _worth_.   
  
There was a curl of relief and happiness-stained ivy that twined itself between Ryuuji's ribcage that ached from tears, the light of it burning brighter at the touch of hands in his, at the kind eyes and words from the soft-spoken mouth of another (but the most important person to him).   
  
Ryuuji shook his head wryly, almost laughing at the thought. _He's too good for me; too damn good._ __  
  
"Thank you, Akira. Just... _thank you."_   
  
"You never need to thank me."   
  
Smiles, half stuck between tears and relief caught in the sleepy sunlight that smeared the colors in their eyes, their breath swirls of vibrant colors so _bright_ \-   
There wasn't a prettier sight.  
  
(The next morning yielded a half-confused Sojiro with Futaba in tow when they found half-washed dishes and an extra set of shoes, until they stumbled upon the two boys passed out on the floor atop single futon, an old movie buzzing on the crackling screen of Akira's ancient TV. They were impossibly entwined despite the summer heat, yet somehow they remained latched on to each other as if they couldn't bear to part even in sleep. It was a touching scene, both peacefully asleep and pressed into each other, skin to skin and back to chest, like a reminder of _"yes I'm still here"._ __  
Calm, quiet-  
_Alive_.)   
  
  
_"And I hope to God you'll listen_ __  
_And you'll keep me safe from harm_ __  
_'Cause I found what I was missing_ _  
___When I fell into your arms…”


End file.
